Hoping for Hugs
by TruffleHead
Summary: Sherlock and John- you might write about them all the time, but have you ever stopped to think about how /they/ might feel about that? Yes, of course, /you/ can see your characters in your mind's eye while writing, but what if your characters could see you, too?


**Alright guys, I'm going to warn you beforehand- not entirely sure where this came from. Inside that dusty little chest in the attic that is my brain, probably. XD But, there **_**is**_** some JohnLock! So you have that to rely on. Anywho, on with it.**

**This was based on a prompt with Sherlock Nelms (*que jazz hands for her brilliance): 'Second Nature' and 'Hugs'. **

Sherlock blinked his eyes as he felt life trickle into him. He sensed he couldn't stand yet, but he experimentally wiggled his toes just to make sure they were still in full working condition. It felt like waking up from a very, very long sleep. A sleep where you popped in and out of existence. Sherlock sighed, rolling a stiff shoulder. It was starting again.

He was being written.

"Ah, it's... Sophie, this time. My, she's a beauty." John's teasing voice said from behind him. Sherlock smiled at the sound at John's voice- really, just the sound of any other living thing comforted him- and closed his eyes to get a look of his own at this author.

The walls of 221 B disappeared, and instead a girl started to form. Instinct told him her name was Sophie; John had been correct. She _was _considerably attractive, just like John had said, but, probably the only reason he thought this is because the author had long, sandy blonde hair. Exactly the same shade as John's.

Suddenly, there was a hand running through _his _hair, and Sherlock sprang back to reality.

"I do prefer... curls, though, I have to admit." John's soft voice was in his ear, and Sherlock blushed. A soft kiss was placed on his temple, and, realizing he could stand now, Sherlock quickly rose and pulled John in his arms, where he fit perfectly.

"Do you think..." John's slightly muffled voice started to ask from his chest.

"No, I don't think so." He closed his eyes to get a glimpse of the author again, just to make sure. The feeling he got when he looked at her just couldn't be ignored. This wasn't going to be a "JohnLock", as they called it. They were going to have to pretend to be friends again.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said as he pulled John away just the tiniest bit to offer him a small, sad smile. John nodded slightly before pulling him back into the embrace.

"It's not your fault." John said, sighing sadly.

"Sorry, what isn't who's fault?" A small, girlish voice piped from the hallway. Moments after, a head of messy, red hair practically bounced into the living room.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Perfect. An OC.

John turned to get a better look at the girl, but Sherlock kept his arms around John's waist; he knew better than to let go. They only had a certain amount of time left, after all.

John cleared his throat, preparing to answer her question. "Um, we were just... hoping for... well, hugs."

The girl skipped closer, and tipped her head to the side. "Well, I can hug you, if you wish." She smiled brightly.

"No, it's just we may not be able to even touch each other much when the story begins." John said patiently.

"But you'll still be able to interact! There's no need to feel sad." The girl smiled again. Sherlock and John were getting the impression that she had this constant habit of doing so.

John smirked grimly, but Sherlock cut in before he could respond. "Well, seeing as this might very well be the last time I'll be able to hold John for a _lifetime_, forgive me if I'm not jumping for joy."

The girl's smile faltered. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes we get written to be _friends_," Sherlock scoffed at the word. "We learn to appreciate what embraces we do get to have."

"Stories have gone on for years and years before," John muttered, pained nostalgia filling his voice.

"But at least you can still see each other?" The OC offered, really trying her best to be optimistic.

"Yes," Sherlock said, his arms tightening around John, "until the story ends."

"And another will always begin," The girl said, smiling a crooked smile. Then, a confused expression crossed her face. "But how do I come into play, then? Will I _ever _come back?" Her eyes were shining with hope, but Sherlock could tell she already knew the answer.

"No," John admitted, "probably not. I'm sorry."

The girl nodded, trying to accept that and move on. Fact was fact; why bother dwelling on it? A smile once again graced her features. "When do we start?" The OC asked.

"When we need to, and not a second before," Sherlock said.

"And what do I _do_, then, when the fic has started?" Said the OC, becoming a little frustrated.

"Just do what feels... natural," John suggested. "It'll be second nature."

"Make sure to _always_ follow your instincts, though, do _not_ stray from them. If an author gets annoyed that the characters keep 'writing themselves' they'll get frustrated and _stop writing_." Sherlock practically spat to poor girl, "And I'll never see John again."

The OC's eyes softened at that, she understood John must be a touchy subject to him. She nodded, hoping this would reassure him. "I understand."

The hairs on the back of his neck started to rise, and Sherlock knew it was almost time. Information flooded into his brain, and he accepted it without question just as he had done time after time before that.

The girl's name was Quin. She was John's cousin. She has been staying in 221 B. for a couple of weeks now. She was a Oneirologist from Ireland and liked green tea.

"It's about to start, now. She just finished describing you and your backstory." John spoke calmly toward newly- named 'Quin', and then shifted so he was facing Sherlock. "Sherlock," he said softly, but you could still hear the order in it- the tone that he had acquired in Afghanistan.

Sherlock understood and reluctantly released him and crossed the room to look at Quin. "Remember," He said, "second nature."

Suddenly, Quin's expression changed completely.

She took a tentative step closer to him, her eyes flickering over to him shyly, as if asking if it was okay to proceed. Sherlock blinked in answer. She took another coy step closer to him... and abruptly flicked him in the nose.

Sherlock stepped back, surprised, and Quin burst out laughing. Sherlock and John didn't take long to join in.

**-story break horray-**

Weeks passed, and the story developed more and more each day. To any outside observer, it would seem as if Quin was slowly, but surely, melting Sherlock's shell.

But Sherlock, John, and Quin knew better. The only one who was ever truly successful at 'melting Sherlock's shell' was John. And for Sherlock, it would only ever be John.

**Well that was weird. Glad I got that one off of my chest. Well, there you go, my dearest readers, I hope you enjoyed. Please tell me what you thought of the weirdness. Not sure what to think of it myself, yet. :) Thanks for reading! I cannot express my love enough!**  
**Alright, I'll stop talking now (so you can have time to review... XD).**  
**=^..^= TruffleHead**


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